If I Had to Perish Twice
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: For the flashfic "freezing" challenge. AU, character death, a man who isn't, quite, Rodney McKay. Snow's just ice, more cold to sap your strength. Terrible, like death, but strangely pretty for all that.


If I Had to Perish Twice

Rating: PG

Summary: AU, character death. Snow's just ice, more cold to sap your strength. Terrible, like death, but strangely pretty for all that.

Characters: ...Sorry, that's half the plot. Though "John and Rodney" wouldn't be too misleading.

Spoilers: Nope. AU, after all, and a decidedly odd one.

Notes: Weirdly enough, the fic I wrote (and failed to post yet) from this odd scenario for the wordless challenge actually had the line "it's freaking cold", which must be why it's all that would occur to me this time. Well, I'm kind of a PG-13 girl.

-

He'd always thought those fools who called death 'peaceful' must all be religious freaks, rationalizing away yet another horror in their desperate quest to justify the actions of their God. Death had always looked terrible and painful to him-- unless, perhaps, you were one of the lucky ones who passed on in their sleep or on heavy medication or so suddenly that they didn't have time to be alarmed. Since he'd arrived in Pegasus, he'd been pretty sure he wasn't going to fall under any of those categories. And, as any idiot could've predicted, he hadn't.

And yet, he thought. There _was_ a strange sort of peace about it. For the first time in months, in years... Why?

Because he hadn't failed, this time. All this time he'd been facing the constant fear that he would fail, that people would die, that people would hate him forever... and now it was too late. There wasn't anything else he could do. He'd succeeded in his last task-- saved his team, kept the city safe another day-- and he couldn't fail again. He could never fail again; no more deadlines, no more pressure, nothing else in the world he had to do.

Well. It would have been nice if he'd finished a few more of his theories, maybe found a couple more ZPMs, finished that work on the shield circuitry-- but Zelenka could handle all that. Enough of it, anyway. He'd managed last time, hadn't he?

But he should probably be more worried about that. Then again, at this point, who the hell cared? It wasn't like he could change anything-- unless that 'Acension' thing they talked about... nah, impossible. Peace and spiritual centering and noninterference-- none of those things were him. Even if he could manage it, it would probably be a fate worse than death. Whatever death was.

He turned his attention outward again and realized the flecks in his vision weren't illusions, or ash from the explosion, but _snow_-- actual snow, it must be, white and wet and cold-- and maybe _that_ was why he ws so numb. He'd attributed that and the cold to blood loss, but if it were snowing out here--

No, there was still a fairly large, sharp chunk of metal in his stomach. He was pretty sure he was dying.

And the _snow_. Somehow, he'd guessed it would be snowing. All the talk of life-sucking space vampires and ancient nanobots and astral energy beings must have brought out the primitive superstitiousness he'd never had any patience for. All his life, he'd managed to avoid seeing snow. Somehow-- possibly, it turned out, through government conspiracy-- he was always somewhere cold and dry whenever the occasional flurry hit north Florida, and all his travels elsewhere were either in summer or unseasonably dry. Even in another _galaxy_, he hadn't broken the trend-- and he'd somehow suspected, if he ever did, it would be the day he died.

Total nonsense, of course, a complete coincidence. But he could see how the sheer, unbearable irony of it could lead you to seek other explanations.

There was a faint noise from somewhere in the distance-- of course, anything further than about a yard counted as 'distant' to him at the moment-- then a louder one, and a faint, creaky voice called, "Rodney?"

Rodney. All this time and they were still calling him Rodney. Well, Sheppard had just survived a fairly massive explosion, so he'd let that slip go. Actually, Sheppard was usually better about remembering... Even Zelenka would start slipping when he was exhausted, which, given the current workload of Atlantis' science and engineering staff, was about half the time. They'd known Rodney for a long time, after all, in these incredibly stressful circumstances... And he couldn't deny he looked exactly like the man. Acted like him, too, apparently, from what everyone said and the way they had sometimes of practically reading his mind... From the very beginning, it had been like they'd known him, and there were only a few rough edges where he didn't quite fit what they'd expected.

Mercifully few. He'd been so afraid, at times, that he couldn't live up to that legacy... Not that he ever would have admitted it. But during that first crisis, he'd stopped protesting when everyone kept slipping and calling him 'Rodney' or 'McKay', and it wasn't just because there hadn't been time for it. It was also because Rodney could have done it. Rodney could've managed all the pressure, all the panic, and come up with eight brilliant solutions in a row, and at that point-- he had really needed to be that person. And everyone else needed him, too...

"Rodney? Ro--" A muffled curse. "Allan?"

Oh yeah. He should probably say something. He blinked up at the snow, looking for inspiration.

"'Some say the world will end in fire; some say in ice.'"

"Allan?" Closer, this time.

The other reason he'd superstitiously expected this, he remembered; this exact poem. No wonder it had come back to him. "From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."

He'd died in an explosion, Rodney had. Of course-- so had he. But so many nights thinking about Rodney, half-vaporized in the fire, when apparently he'd come so close to drowning so many times... But of course it would be an explosion...

"But if I had to perish twice... I think I know enough of hate..." The slight lump in his throat wasn't making breathing any easier. "To say that ice... is also great... and would suffice."

"Allan!" Sheppard, finally, crashing to a stop beside him, looking pale and bleeding from a gash across his forehead.

"Hi," he said.

"Allan, I--" Sheppard glanced down, just far enough down, and swallowed. "We're gonna get through this, all right? Help's gonna come. Probably already on its way. So stay with me, now."

His first dazed thought was _where?_, but he still had just enough sense not to say that aloud. Reputation to maintain, after all. Genius. "You all right?"

"Uh... My leg's in bad shape. We'll probably be spending a lot of time in the infirmary together. They'll probably put us together, just to torment me. Me and nurses? Not always the best of relationships. I'm a really bad patient."

He couldn't help smiling to himself; the effort was just so sweet, so obviously pointless. He could feel it clawing at him, a little like low blood sugar, but mainly just low blood. Drifting... snow blowing across the sky, getting heavier. Pretty, he supposed.

"I'd never seen snow before," he said. "Through whatever machinations." Whoever the hell it had been who'd decided to plant god only knew how many clones in god only knew how many women... Unless they'd cloned Rodney McKay some other time, and none of his memories were real. It made more sense, but he couldn't believe that. Maybe some of his childhood, but after that... He remembered it so clearly...

"R--Allan!" The slap was soft, either through design or numbness. "Keep talking to me!"

What agency had it been, that boxed him up and smuggled him to Atlantis with a note that said, "Don't say we never gave you anything"? None of the official ones... Or had it been? Damn, it was starting to blur.

"Yeah, they'd have kept you from wherever Rodney was then, so I can see how they wouldn't have let you far north," Sheppard said. "Still, you've never seen snow at _all_? You're the one who keeps saying you didn't live on a beach."

"Inland... doesn't mean it snows. Rarely cold enough... just doesn't rain, in winter. Doesn't happen. Flurry... every couple decades... somehow I was never there. Terribly mad about that, growing up. They use the same damn school things all across the country, you know that?" he demanded, the old irritation coming easily to him, the familiar rant tripping almost fluidly off his tongue. "Snow-covered trees and snowmen, and every Christmas Eve the sadistic weatherman says there's a _chance_, and you jump up in the morning to look out the window and there's nothing but dead grass. Make you feel like you're missing something, the sadistic little..."

"Yeah? What d'you think, then?"

He considered. "It's freaking cold. I knew I'd hate it."

Sheppard made a little choking sound and dissolved into laughter-- probably against his will, judging by the pain that started to show through near the end.

What had those idiots in the government done... He might've been on the 'Nature' side in the debate, but he wasn't dense enough to think your upbringing counted for nothing. It they were this alike, there must be more than genes. Teachers, advisors... similar sets of parents... hell, maybe brainwashing, he'd been dragged in by the CIA once. Shaped... and it couldn't be just two. He wouldn't believe it, there was a letter in his files for the next one. Not many places in North America left, maybe they'd branched out. Maybe England--

"Rodney!" Another curse. "Allan! Would you listen to me-- do _not_ do this again! Do you hear me?! Do _not_ do this to me again!"

That was right-- he'd been there when Rodney went, too. He wished he could put just one more note in his letter-- "Please try not to die in front of Colonel Sheppard, I think he's getting a bit sick of it."

"You are staying awake, Allan. You hear me?! You're staying awake because they're coming and we need you, okay?! Why do you think they bothered to clone you in the first place? We _need_ you. And you're too damn stubborn to die like this!"

Ah, but that was the thing; he _wasn't_. He was actually finding himself rather reconciled to the idea, maybe finally some difference in upbringing-- and stubbornness could only get you so far. Look at Rodney, trying to hold a galaxy together with brilliance, panic and a two-year-old laptop. But there were some fights you couldn't win.

Or it could just be blood loss. Judging from the way his vision was blurring and greying, he couldn't have that much blood left to lose.

"Talk to me," said Sheppard. "The cold-- that's gotta help, right? Slows blood flow-- it doesn't look that bad, it really doesn't--"

"Liar," he muttered.

"Okay, it doesn't look exactly good, but I've seen worse." _On dead people_, he filled in. "You'll be fine. Don't think there's just going to be another one-- you can't just _replace_ people like that, no matter what they think-- don't just assume we'll be okay without you-- I can't believe I just said that. _Stay with me._"

He knew he should try, but he couldn't; he knew exactly how far away help was, and how long it would take them to get here, and how long they'd wait to make sure the coast was clear. Sheppard would probably live that long, but he...

"Allan."

...was just doing what he was supposed to do, though he was pretty sure the 'keep him awake' thing was mostly for concussion patients, and-- hey, _did_ he have a concussion? He could've hit his head-- but it didn't exactly matter, the cold would kill him first, was killing him now. He'd known ever since he fully realized that snow was frozen water that he wouldn't actually like it when he saw it, no matter how they kept portraying it, but he'd never entirely believed it, and he hadn't been wrong... just ice, blowing thick around them, sapping strength straight from the bones. Terrible, like death. But strangely... pretty, for all that. Strangely... right.

Sheppard was still yelling something at him and he was sorry he couldn't answer, sorry to do this to him again, but he didn't have any tricks left, his or Rodney's, and the exhaustion of fifteen intermittently hellish months finally dragged him down.

-


End file.
